


Build me a city, call it Jerusalem

by noisette



Category: Pillars of the Earth
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noisette/pseuds/noisette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come with me to the witch's tent," Maud begs, tugging Aliena from the green. "Robert will never let me go alone."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Build me a city, call it Jerusalem

They play at being queens and drape themselves in silk and lace, with crowns of daisy and daffodils to decorate their hair; silly games for silly girls, but what else is there to do at a village fair? It's rare enough that Maud should be given leave from court to visit the countryside and every minute must be cherished -- even the silly ones.

"Come with me to the witch's tent," Maud begs, tugging Aliena from the green. "Robert will never let me go alone." 

That is a lie, for Robert lets his half-sister do as she pleases -- and besides he is engaged in a serious bout of swordplay with Richard -- but Aliena drags herself to her feet with a sigh and a yawn. "Can we not go back? Dew has soaked through my skirts." And in the morning Maud will be gone, off to her next port of call like a merchant ship, and Aliena will be alone once more. She tells herself that if she does not act selfish then she is not selfish; her nurse would make out that lie in no time at all. 

"I like you soaked," Maud murmurs, hooking her fingers around a drooping daisy chain.

Naturally, Maud gets her way. Her hand is warm on Aliena's bare forearm, the bite of fingernails just this side of painful to keep her awake. "Make way for the princess!" cries Robert, his cheeks flushed from sparring all afternoon as he drums peasants out of their path. This is not the first time the princess has visited Shiring, but since news of her nuptials has trickled down the royal grapevine, her retinue has certainly grown. She travels with soldiers and maids, now, and Aliena is constantly reminded that she is no longer worthy of being her friend, let alone--

The tent flap is pulled aside and a woman with hair the color of rust and copper steps out in bare feet. She has no warts or boils upon her face; her skin is as pale as freshly fallen snow, with fetching red upon her cheeks. Her dress isn't long enough to cover her ankles. Aliena finds herself suddenly, blissfully glad that her father isn't present.

"We wish to have our fortunes read," Maud proclaims with head held high. Her gaze is firm. So too is the hold she has upon Aliena's arm. 

"Both of you?" The witch is French -- or was, long ago in her travels. She looks upon them with little interest, lingering ever so slightly longer on Aliena. It means nothing; a trick of the trade.

Her hand shoots out, lightning-quick, to stop Robert from following. "Only the Princess and her friend may enter."

"Get your hand--"

"Be still, Robert," says Maud from within. "There are no barbarians here to abduct me and I won't have you eavesdropping." No one defies the princess, not even her besotted brother. Aliena is no match and she feels cowardly for wishing company had been allowed to follow them inside.

The tent flap falls shut behind them seemingly of its accord, separating them from the outside world and all its distractions. A musky, earthy perfume of clover and cypress hangs in the tightly enclosed space, herbs hung like boughs mistletoe from lines on the tent pole. If they are there to summon spirits, then does that make the fortune teller devil's spawn? Where does the Church come down on princesses who converse with soothsayers?

"Protective," murmurs the witch, meaning Robert. 

"Loyal," Maud agrees and sits herself down on a creaky wooden chair. Aliena stands beside her, an unworthy sentinel in the feeble glow of candles. "You should know I have had my fortunes told before," Maud boasts. "And I shall only pay if I am convinced you are no charlatan." 

The witch smiles, flashing pale teeth. "And if I tell you that which you do not wish to hear? Will I lose my head, perhaps?"

Maud returns the smile. "I do not have such powers."

"Not yet." The witch gestures and Maud lays her hand palm up in hers. The gold bands of her rings glimmer dully in the faint candlelight, more brass than precious metal. "So. You are princess and you wish to be queen..." All that means is that palace rumor has reached Shiring; Maud is King Henry's only living heir, what else are the small folk to think? Maud looks far from convinced.

"Is that all? My chamber maid might have told you as much!"

The witch goes on: "Chasing wishes is like chasing hare, Princess. Exhaust the animal and you may catch it; this does not make you swift." Her keen eyes examine the faint lines inscribed on Maud's palm, a study in which Aliena has often engaged with little result. "Much death shrouds your ambition. Four men, all dear to you, must die for this dream of glory. One, you may save. The others..." Auburn curls waver as the witch shakes her head. Three deaths, she means, and nothing to be done to spare them. "You will be disgraced, denounced and damned by Church and loyal friend alike. I see a journey in your future, Princess; a long pilgrimage and a faraway exile."

"Why should I ever go into exile?" Maud snorts, but the question is tinged with a sliver of distress. Aliena thinks to lay a comforting hand upon the princess' shoulder, but even she feels snared by the witch's voice and keeps still.

The woman smiles: "why, to protect the rightful king." Her hands releasing Maud's, the witch rights her hunched shoulders as if unknotting each joint in turn. "Now you," she says, beckoning her chin to Aliena. 

"No, I'd rather--"

"Oh, go ahead," Maud goads her, rising from the chair to make room. She is still contemplating her hand, as if seeking to recover the thread of the witch's fast-concluded tale. A royal command cannot be disobeyed. 

Aliena sits, sighing, and holds out her right hand. The witch catches it in the clutch of two coarse palms. "You do not believe in witchcraft and magic."

"I do not." Her wandering gaze may have given that way; it's hardly proof of any great divination. 

"Then I shall only say this: you will marry and you will have sons. You shall be happy -- and in your darkest hours, when you find yourself friendless and alone, when luck eludes you and the future seems uncertain: trust that your enemies will hang before your very eyes."

Aliena retrieves her hand with a jerk. "What horrible thing to say. Maud, let us go. She speaks trifles..." The witch doesn't look half startled, a small, delighted little smirk playing across her lips as she watches Aliena struggle to her feet. It is unsettling to feel so transparent.

The sun glows too brightly when they step outside to a small gathering of soldiers and lay-about gawkers. "Aliena will be married," Maud announces with a resounding laugh. "And so will I! Imagine that." It is not hard to plaster on a smile to match the princess' forced levity.

Later, when it is just the two of them inside the bedchamber, Aliena cannot keep from asking: "why did you have Robert pay her? You do not believe what she said, do you?" Maud's hair is spun gold between her fingers, easy to comb and harder to braid. By morning, it will be undone, hanging around her cheeks in coarse little curls that the maids will have to untangle. Aliena does not mind; if she had it her way, she'd leave Maud's hair undone, a vicious tangle to match the princess' spirit. 

"She pronounced me queen," Maud recalls with a titter. "I repaid her clever reckoning, not her fabrications. What princess does not wish to find herself so elevated?"

It doesn't take Aliena to tell her the only way this can happen if King Henry dies without a legitimate male heir. That's a dark thought; she keeps it to herself. "There," she says, stepping away. "I am finished." 

"Let me see." A mirror exchanges hands, adjusted this way and that so Maud might see the long braid spilling down her shoulders. "Perfect. You have such talented hands, Aliena." In thanks, the Princess bestows kisses across her knuckles. 

"Were that I was nearly as skilled with the embroidery needle," Aliena demurs, but only for as long as it takes Maud to glance up at her with a chiding smile. Aliena's lips find hers and they topple to the bed in a many-limbed joining of skin and thin shift, the princess capitulating willingly, for once, under Aliena's superior strength. "Do you yield, Your Highness?"

"Not until you call me by my name," Maud laughs, hooking her leg around Aliena's hips. "Say it."

They have known each other since they were little girls playing together at King Henry's court; they've known each other through their first blood and their heartbreak. They know each other better than a man ever shall. And Aliena finds her chest aching as she breathes "Your Majesty" for Maud's pleasure. It's not the first sacrifice made for the princess, yet for some reason, such harmless little words cast a long shadow over their guiltless frolics. 

Perhaps it is the mad light that burns in Maud's eyes when she hears them; Aliena cannot say and later she will not recall the passion instigated by so tenuous a lie. 

When they are finished, their thighs slick and moans faded to low, even breaths, Maud falls asleep curled around Aliena back, a hand resting lazily upon her naked breast. She pinches in her sleep, sometimes; she bites with teeth as sharp as fangs. This time, when Aliena unlocks the noble fingers from her flesh, it's to study the runes of Maud's palm in the moonlight. Many a line lies etched into her alabaster skin and Aliena cannot read them all. 

It does no good to reminisce, and yet these are the images that dance before her eyes: Maud with her fingers hooked in a daisy chain. Maud laughing as Robert drives Richard into the mud, their swords pecking mildly at each other's silvery stem. 

Maud: undone upon the bed sheets, reaching in the spur of the moment for the hem of Aliena's shift.

It does no good to pretend she wasn't hoping the witch would say something of their friendship. Maud burrows closer, warm breaths gusting against Aliena's nape. Perhaps she dreams of conquering.

**Author's Note:**

> Title poached from Richard Siken's _Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out_ which is awesome and can be read [here](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/177722#poem).


End file.
